Until I Die (22 page)

PAPY ORDERED ME TO SIT DOWN AND SPENT THE
next fifteen minutes closing the gallery early. We were both jumpy on the walk home—waiting for the numa to double back and come for us. I felt like telling my grandfather that sending Vincent away before he could escort us safely to our house might not have been the smartest idea, but by that point I was keeping my thoughts to myself.

Then, halfway there, I saw Ambrose in a phone booth pretending to be deep in conversation, although I knew full well that he never left home without his cell phone. He winked as I walked by, and I suspected that Vincent had provided us with ample protection. When I spotted Gaspard sitting in a café reading a book, and he raised an eyebrow as we passed, I was sure of it.

Once home, Papy and I headed directly to his office. “Kate,” he said gravely, as I posed nervously on a leather armchair, “do you even know what Vincent is?”

I nodded. “I know everything, Papy. Or at least, I know a lot. But how do
you
know about them? You can't tell me you just jumped from studying mythological beings to believing they exist. You didn't even blink when Vincent told you what he was.”

My grandfather sighed, walked to his bookcase, and, after searching for a minute, pulled out the old bestiary. He laid it on the low, round table between us and opened it, flipping through until he found the right page.

“This, my dear,” he said, gesturing toward the book, “is the only record of a revenant in my entire library. I have seen them mentioned in other texts, but as soon as books or works of art concerning revenants come onto the market, they are snatched up for astronomical prices. The buyers are a secret network of private collectors using obviously fictional names and paying in cash. We antiquities dealers know to contact them if we come into possession of anything of that nature.

“None of the dealers talk about the revenant-theme collectors—not even among ourselves; our clients have made it clear that if we discuss their interest with anyone they will no longer do business with us. All literary traces of revenants have disappeared into these buyers' collections. So of course it occurred to me that there might be a reason for the secrecy—beyond an extremely competitive market.”

I met Papy's serious gaze with a determined look of my own. He wasn't going to scare me, and he needed to know that.

“There are strange, mystical things occurring in our world that very few people know about. Because my profession necessitates constant detective work into the darkest corners of history, I unluckily happen to be privy to some of them. Most of my colleagues prefer to stick their heads in the sand and pretend that revenants are fictional beings. But I don't agree with them—I suspected their existence. And after what I witnessed today, my suspicions have been confirmed.

“But Kate, these things should remain where they began—in the shadows. Not in my life, dating my granddaughter. I cannot let you see Vincent again. Your parents would have expected me to protect you, and barring you from seeing something”—he hesitated, registering the look on my face—“some
one
who means certain danger for you, is part of the responsibility I have accepted.”

“But Papy . . . ,” I began, suddenly blinded by an onslaught of tears.

“You are seventeen and still under my guardianship. When you are eighteen you can do what you want, although I will hope that by then you will see things the way I do.” His words were delivered with firmness, but I saw his eyes cloud with emotion as he watched me cry. I leaned forward into his arms.

“Oh, dear Kate,” he soothed. “I hate to make you unhappy. But I would rather see you depressed than dead.”

Back in my room, I picked up my phone and stared at it for an entire minute. For the first time in almost a year I wanted to tap in the number of one of my Brooklyn friends and hear their old familiar voice at the end of the line. But even though I knew I could do that—any one of them would be forgiving enough to pick right up from where we had left off—how could I even begin to tell them about my situation? It was too incredible to describe.

Um, yeah, Claudia? I'm dating this dead guy named Vincent and Papy won't let me see him, because if I do I might be killed by these evil zombies that are out to get him.
My friends would think that my grief had driven me mad.

I shook my head in frustration and dialed Vincent's number. His voice sounded calm, but I could tell he was as shaken up as me.

“What's the verdict?”

“Papy said I can't see you anymore.” I couldn't help my voice from wavering.

“What else could we expect? He's a rational man.” His voice shifted from cautious to warm. Caring. “Kate . . . I wish I were there with you. Are you okay?”

I sniffed and pushed my palm hard against my forehead to keep the tears from coming. “I'm all right. And I see where he's coming from. But he's wrong.”

“He's not wrong about the fact that I bring danger into your life.”

“The danger's already here, Vincent. It's too late to think of that. Those numa are after me now. So thinking about it rationally, it's even more dangerous for me to stay away from you. Besides the fact that I don't
want
to stay away from you.” My tears won out, and I began to cry. For about the thousandth time in one day.

“It's going to be okay, Kate,” Vincent said softly.

I grabbed a tissue and breathed deeply, trying to compose myself. “I owe Papy my respect. But I just can't obey him in this case.” Vincent didn't respond.

Something that had been nagging at the back of my mind for the last few hours began to emerge and form into a coherent thought. The whole revenant revelation and anti-Vincent campaign by Papy had overshadowed something important. But now I began to realize the repercussions of something the numa had said, and my heart was suddenly in my throat.

“Vincent—today in the gallery. That numa said something about me killing Lucien.” I shivered, although it was about seventy degrees in my bedroom. “How could he know that? No numa were there to witness it, and only your kindred know what happened.”

“I was wondering if you had picked up on that,” Vincent responded darkly. “I've been discussing it with the others since I got back.”

“Could there have been a volant numa spirit accompanying Lucien who returned to tell the others what happened?”

“No—I was volant too, remember? I would have known if someone else was there.”

“Then how . . .”

“Only revenants knew about that. It has to be one of our own who shared the information.”

“What?” I sat there stunned, waiting for some kind of explanation.

“Ambrose and Gaspard and I have been talking about it. It's the only answer. Somewhere in Paris, a revenant is talking to the numa. Maybe even working in conjunction with them. I'm sure of it. We all are. Not just because of this. The report I got in Berlin was that there was some sort of information leak.”

“But why?”

“I have no idea.”

“And how did the numa know that I visited the
guérisseur
?”

“They could have been following you. Watching you.”

“But Jules was with me. Surely he would have known if numa were around.”

Vincent
hmm
-ed in agreement.

“Who else knows I visited Gwenhaël?”

“Well, by now our whole house does. I discussed it with them when you and I got back from the south. And then gave them the update when you told me that she had fled after the numa came to her shop. But I doubt they've mentioned it to anyone else. As far as we're concerned, until her son contacts you to say she's back, that path's hit a dead end.”

As he spoke, an idea came to me. I hesitated before voicing my suspicion, knowing it sounded crazy. “But let's say it
is
someone in your house. Arthur made it really clear what he thought about letting a human be involved in revenant affairs when he voted me out of that meeting. And then, when he saw me in JB's library—the day I returned the book—he said that there was information in there that humans shouldn't know about.”

“Now wait a minute, Kate,” Vincent said forcefully. “If you're saying what I think . . . Arthur might not like the fact that you're as involved as you are in our business, but he would never put you at risk. There is no way he would purposely sell you out to the numa.”

“No, you're right,” I conceded, feeling worse about my theory sounding stupid to Vincent than I did for falsely accusing Arthur. And then I thought of something else. “Wait, Violette told me Arthur had kept in contact with numa from their past life. She said it was from a time when numa and revenants weren't enemies.”

“What?” Vincent said, incredulous.

But I was on a roll. There was no self-editing for me by this point, no matter how weird it sounded to Vincent. “Actually, I saw Arthur talking to this really iffy-looking guy one day, at La Palette. He could totally have been a numa. . . . Now that I think back on it, I'm sure of it. He had that weird thing going on in the air around him.”

“What do you mean, ‘weird thing in the air'?”

“You know. They all have that kind of thing around their bodies. Like the few inches around them are in shades of gray. Like they've sucked all the color out of the air.”

Vincent hesitated. “You can tell who's numa and who's not?”

“Um, yeah. Can't everyone?”

“No, not humans.” He thought for a second. “Could you tell with Lucien?”

“No. I don't think so,” I admitted, trying to remember. Besides the time he had a knife pressed up against my sister's throat, I'd only seen him in a dark nightclub.

“Then it probably has something to do with when I possessed you. Gaspard keeps asking me if you've had side effects.”

Impatient with this unrelated diversion, I continued my theory: “So if you told Arthur that I had been to the
guérisseur
, he could have passed that information on to the numa.”

“Kate . . .” Vincent's voice was dark.

“No, not like that. Not on purpose. But if he is in contact with the numa, maybe he let it slip. Maybe he just mentioned it to someone. To the wrong someone.”

“Kate. Stop right now. You sound completely paranoid. I know you're scared and you're just trying to figure this all out, but I promise . . . you are looking in completely the wrong direction.”

“But Vincent, you agree that only revenants know I killed Lucien.”

“The entire revenant community is aware of that. And there are a
lot
of us. Not just the seven who live in our house.”

I ignored him and continued. “And out of all the revenants, only the ones in your house knew that I went to the
guérisseur
. And Violette told me that Arthur is in contact with the numa. Who else could it be? And whether or not he meant to put me in danger . . .”

“Whether or not? Kate, stop right there. None of our close kindred would betray us to the numa,” Vincent said. “I know you're still angry at Arthur for shaming you in front of the house. And, quite honestly, I am too. But whether or not he is bigoted against humans, he's good at heart, and he is
not
stupid. He wouldn't let your activities ‘slip' to a numa if—and I seriously doubt this—he is actually in contact with any of them.”

I sighed, wanting to believe him. But I had a feeling. There was just something wrong about Arthur. I didn't trust him. But I couldn't say anything else to Vincent about it.

“Kate, don't worry about this. We're taking care of everything. Jules is volant tomorrow, so he's going to come with Jean-Baptiste and me to begin investigating Paris's revenants on our own . . . to see if we can find the leak. Ambrose is going to take you and Georgia to school.”

Good plan
, I thought,
except you're looking in the wrong place—your “leak” is living under your own roof
.

Vincent and I said good night and reassured each other that, although we had to be careful not to provoke my grandfather, we would see each other secretly. But when I hung up, I felt anything but reassured. Not that my recent behavior had been the best example, but I hated sneaking around behind anyone's back. And knowing that I would be going directly against Papy's wishes felt like a betrayal of his trust. He had taken Georgia and me in and was doing his best to give us a good life. And I was blatantly disobeying him.

AS SOON AS I HEARD GEORGIA GET HOME THAT
night, I popped across the hallway and installed myself in her bedroom. “Katie-Bean!” She greeted me with a smile, but her expression quickly rearranged itself into one of concern when she saw my face. “Oh no. What happened?”

“Papy knows.”

“Papy knows what?”

“That Vincent's a revenant and that I've got numa after me.”

“What do you mean, you've got numa after you?”

I told her the whole story. The meeting with the
guérisseur
. The theft at our grandfather's gallery. The healer's disappearance. And then the standoff between Papy and Vincent.

“You're not going to stop seeing Vincent, are you?” Georgia asked, alarmed.

“No,” I admitted. “I'm not. But I won't be able to talk about him anymore in front of Papy and Mamie. And I will probably have to lie about what I'm doing when I'm out. Which makes me feel pretty low. But there's no way I'm going to stop seeing him.”

Georgia thought for a moment. “So what are you going to do? I mean, you can't just keep ducking Papy forever.”

I settled in at the end of her bed. “I've come up with a plan. It's kind of lame, but . . .”

“Spill,” my sister said.

“I thought I would ask Jean-Baptiste to talk to Papy.”

“What! Why?” asked Georgia.

“Because Vincent told me JB's part of this group of supersecret revenant-theme collectors that Papy sells to. So Papy might actually listen to him. There are a few outsiders who know what they are—like Jeanne, their housekeeper. So Jean-Baptiste must know how to explain it to humans he needs—in a way that convinces them to do business with him and keep things quiet.”

“Doing business with someone and convincing them to let their granddaughter date your undead faux-nephew are two very different things,” Georgia said, finally peeling off her boots and tights and getting comfortable on the bed.

“I know,” I mumbled, disheartened. “It's a long shot. But what else can I do? In any case, with everything else going on, that's hardly my priority.”

“What is the priority, then? And how do you plan on using me to help you achieve it?” Georgia asked, her eyes glittering with enthusiasm. My sister was good at the listening, but even better with the action.

“This is the deal, Georgia. First I have to find out who's been talking to the numa about me. If Vincent and his kindred can take care of
that
problem, hopefully I'll be off the hook with the numa. They didn't seem to care about my killing Lucien, especially since I obviously didn't do it alone. They used the term ‘old leader,' so they must have a new leader now. Everyone seems to think so. And they were sent to find out what I learned from the
guérisseur
. So it's not personal—they're not going to hunt me down for the rest of my life.

“Besides—if Arthur is the one talking to the numa . . .” Georgia's eyes bugged, and she looked at me like I had suddenly gone stark raving mad. I held up my hand in a “just wait” gesture. “
If
he's the leak, then Vincent's whole house is in danger. But when I told Vincent my reasons for suspecting Arthur, he wouldn't even listen to me.”

“Well, that's probably because you're insane. Besides the fact that I think Arthur is deliciously dreamy—”

“And your taste has been so reliable in the past,” I cut in.

“
Touché
,” Georgia admitted. “But I know I'm right this time. I actually had coffee with him this afternoon.” She gave me her sly cat grin and pretended she was fanning herself from the memory of his hotness.

“What?” I exclaimed. “He asked you out?”

“Well, not exactly,” Georgia allowed. “I just kind of stumbled across him sitting at the Café Sainte-Lucie, and he asked me to sit with him. And since the evil munchkin wasn't there to piss me off, I said yes.”

“This afternoon after school?” I asked.

“Uh-huh,” she said, eyeing me suspiciously.

“That's when the standoff at Papy's happened. Arthur was probably waiting for the numa to report back to him.”

Georgia's mouth fell open. “Um, paranoid much? Earth to Kate: You're losing your grip on reality. Arthur is a totally normal and very nice dead guy. I would be much more suspicious of Violette.”

I shook my head. “I trust Violette. If Arthur is behind it—wittingly or unwittingly—she must not know a thing about it. Otherwise she would have told me. We've gotten really close, Georgia. I know you don't like her, but I do.”

She patted my arm, as if comforting an invalid. “I think the key word in what you just said was ‘unwittingly.' If he does hang with fringe numa types, it's possible he could have given something away. Although I just can't see him buddying up with the evil ones. I seriously don't think that Arthur would hurt a fly. He seems kind of anxiously reserved, but he's such a nice guy I'm starting to suspect he's actually too nice for me. He seemed genuinely upset about having offended you.”

“See! He
was
talking about me. And he's probably just pretending to be remorseful to throw everyone off.”

“That's enough, Kate. You're on a one-way train to cuckoo-land.”

“I'm going to prove that he's the one.”

“Okay. It's a challenge. I'm going to prove that he's not. Especially seeing that if you're right and he's evil, that will mean I'll have to cancel my date with him for Saturday night.”

“Georgia!”

“Just kidding,” she said, and then under her breath added, “Not really.”

A pot of tiny purple-spotted violet flowers sat on the hall table the next morning. Papy lowered his newspaper long enough to nod toward them, and I wondered if he would have been so blasé about it if the card attached had said “Vincent” instead of “Violette.”

Heard about your frightful experience yesterday. Let's have coffee later on. Café Sainte-Lucie after school? Kisses, Violette

I pulled my flower dictionary out of my book bag and found the picture of the flowers—they were oak-leaved geraniums. “True friendship,” I read, smiling as Georgia walked up behind me. “Those are pretty,” she commented, leaning down to smell them.

“They're from Violette,” I said, watching for her reaction.

“They look like weeds,” she replied, straightening, and went to sit next to Papy at the breakfast table.

“Are you okay?” was all Papy uttered at breakfast, but he said it with a look of concern as he glanced over at Georgia—like he would say more if she weren't there. If my grandfather thought I wouldn't tell my sister everything, then he really didn't know us. Maybe our occasional fights threw him off the scent of just how close we actually were.

A half hour later, we stepped out of the house to see Ambrose waiting for us at the corner, standing next to a black 4x4. “Ladies,” he said in a Barry White voice, and stretching his arms in front of him, cracked his thick neck from side to side. “This way, please.” He opened the door, and I jumped into the backseat. “And the lovely Georgia?”

“All this yummy muscleness first thing in the morning is almost too much for me to take,” she cooed, and gave him a playful wink as she scooted herself into the front seat. I shook my head. If “Flirt” qualified as a foreign language, my sister and Ambrose would both have PhDs in it.

“So where is everyone this morning?” I asked Ambrose as he put the car in gear and headed toward the river.

“Vincent and Jean-Baptiste have gone off to visit the revenants staying in Geneviève's place. You know . . . to dig around to see who tipped the zomboids off to your leader-slaying extravaganza. How's it feel to be Numa Enemy Number One, Katie-Lou?”

“Scary, actually,” I confessed. “I thought that your chauffeuring me around for the last week was pretty useless until yesterday.”

“Does that mean you're happy to see me for once?” Ambrose said, his teeth gleaming white against the dark-chocolate brown of his skin.

“I'm always glad to see you, Ambrose,” I said, knowing that if the same line had come from Georgia it would have sounded as seductive as Mae West.

“How about your oh-so-tempting medieval friend?” Georgia said.

“I suppose you're referring to Arthur and not Violette?” Ambrose replied with a chuckle. “They're both training with Gaspard this morning, before going to visit some of the other kindred on their own. Jules is volant, so I'm going to drop you off at school and walk with him and Gaspard this afternoon before I come back to get you. Stay inside the school gates, will you? We don't need any drive-by numa action while you wait for me on the street.”

Ambrose watched as we entered the school grounds, and once we were through the doors, he drove off. Georgia turned to me. “Well? I got the intel on what Arthur's up to. What are we going to do with it?”

“This is our chance,” I said. “We know where he is right now. We can stake out the house and see where he goes when he leaves.”

“You heard Ambrose. Arthur's supposed to be going somewhere with the Royal Pain.”

“Well, what will it hurt to spy on them for a couple of hours? Besides skipping school, that is. This is our only chance not to be followed by the revenants.”

“Or the numa, for that matter,” Georgia agreed. “Everyone thinks we're in school. We'll have to go now—we don't know how long Gaspard's kick-ass training lasts.” She glanced around the hallway, and her eyes landed on an athletic-looking guy carrying a pile of books. “Hey, Paul!” she yelled. “Remember that time you offered to loan me your scooter?”